Put Your Hands On My Waist, Do It Softly
by Melissa Alexander
Summary: Jonsa Smut Week 2017, Day One: Try something new or teasing.(Why not a bit of both?) The Great War has ended, and Jon and Sansa have wed, but a marriage of convenience has evolved to so much more. As the frigid winter winds whip about outside the walls of Winterfell, Jon suggests something new to take the chill off, testing the boundaries of Sansa's trust in him.


**Put Your Hands On My Waist, Do It Softly**

 **Jonsa Smut Week 2017**

 **Day 1 - Trying something new or teasing (why not a bit of both?)**

* * *

Sansa shivered, drawing her fur cloak more tightly around her, as Jon shuffled her into their chambers and secured the door. The servants had lit a fire while they held court in the Great Hall, but the flames had dipped so low, it appeared even the fire was shivering from the frigid temperatures and howling winds outside.

Winter was here, just as Father had always promised, and with repairs still being made to Winterfell from the damage the castle had sustained in the Great War, they couldn't seem to keep the chill out. At least they wouldn't starve, thanks to her careful planning and preparations prior to the battle.

Sansa sat down on the bed, rubbing vigorously at her arms, hoping the friction would return some heat to her body, as Jon stoked their fire to a roaring blaze. "Aren't you cold?" She asked him, as he paused to shrug off his matching fur cloak she'd made him. It pleased her that he still wore it.

Jon returned the fire poker and closed the distance between them, draping his cloak at the foot of the bed. "There are other ways to get warm, wife," his eyes raked over her suggestively.

Sansa's cheeks stained crimson, the blush traveling down her throat and disappearing under the layers of her clothing to pool in her belly, where she felt the spark of desire stir. Before their loyal subjects they presented the marriage of convenience she offered him, but alone in their chambers - _well_ , that had come to be an entirely different story.

"Would you like me to show you?" He persisted when she remained silent.

"If it pleases you, husband," Sansa let the word roll off her tongue slowly, enjoying the effect the title had on Jon.

Sometimes it was still strange to her -the transformation of their relationship. How he'd gone from stranger and bastard half-brother to her closest confidant, Warden and King in the North, to her cousin, and now, her lover and Lord husband. But through all those facets, one thing had always remained unchanged ... Jon was her protector, and he kept her safe, just as he'd vowed.

Reaching with nimble fingers, Jon unclasped her cloak, letting it fall down her slender shoulders, as he wove his hand around the back of her head, cradling her neck while he dipped to steal a kiss. The first touch of his lips were _always_ gentle, the slightest of brushes -a request for her permission. Jon always let her set the pace -something Sansa appreciated immensely since being introduced to what true intimacy between a husband and wife was meant to be like.

Sighing, Sansa parted her lips, granting Jon her permission, as his kiss intensified, becoming more urgent. His tongue curled around hers suggestively -eliciting a moan from deep within her and making her grateful that she was already sitting, lest her legs give out on her.

And just as quickly as he'd begun the kiss, Jon ended it, panting breathlessly as he took a knee before her, his hands already beginning to work her boots free. He slid them from her feet, pausing in between to rub some warmth into the soles of her feet.

"If I may, my Lady?" He asked, reaching for the hem of her gown.

Speechless, Sansa nodded, as Jon lifted her skirts, his fingers sliding up the length of her leg until he found the ribbon holding up her stockings, and plucked it free. His touch lingered purposefully on her upper thigh, his grey eyes caressing her face like a lover's kiss, as he rolled the hose down her leg, then moved to the other.

A steady heat unfurling deep within her belly, Sansa finally released the breath she'd been holding in, as Jon held one of her stockings up between them. "Do you trust me, Sansa?" He asked, a wicked gleam in his eyes.

"You know that I do," Sansa didn't even have to consider her answer, although she _knew_ that particular look meant that he was up to something ...

A slow smile spreading across his face, Jon drew himself back up to his full height, and bent to place a soft kiss on her forehead. Sansa watched him intently, her eyelashes fluttering against her cheeks as he stretched her hose across her eyes, securing it behind her head, and then ... _she saw no more._ Her heart sped up, beating almost painfully against her breast, as Jon's gentle hands pressed her back into the mattress. The fur from her cloak tickled her face and she gasped, feeling disoriented.

Jon chuckled. "Relax, my love."

And so she did. Or rather, _she tried to_. Willing her heart to slow its pace, Sansa inhaled a deep breath and focused on her surroundings. Without her sight, she found her other senses suddenly spring to life -the sound of the logs crackling in the fire intensified, the smell of Jon permeated her nostrils as the mattress sagged beside her and he took her lips once more, his tongue tasting of wine -sweet with just a touch of bitterness.

"That's it, my sweet girl," he whispered against her lips as he slid down the length of her body. And Sansa's heartbeat picked up tempo again despite herself, as Jon drew her knees up so that her bare feet rested on the edge of the bed, while his hands traveled up under her skirts once more.

She felt the brush of his hand against her most private of parts, his thumbs hooking in the waistband of her small clothes and giving them a tug, Jon jerked them over her hips, and down her legs. The heat in her cheeks traveled up to the tips of her ears, as he rucked up her skirts, exposing her naked flesh to his eyes and the nip of the cool air in the room. Sansa's heart was pounding now, thrumming a crescendo in her ears that drowned out every sound in the room, as she waited with baited breath for Jon to touch her ... but, _no touch came_.

Her hands twisting nervously in the furs beneath her, Sansa curled her toes as her stomach constricted almost painfully in anticipation. _And still_ , he did not touch her ...

"Jon?" Her voice cracked, her throat suddenly going dry as Sansa's insecurities reared their ugly head and began tugging at her brain. The scars on her inner thighs from Ramsay's cruel games ... They had never really talked about them, as they'd both entered into this union war weary and with their own battle scars. Was Jon looking upon them now? Did they disgust him?

Sansa didn't want to play this game anymore. Jerking herself up on her elbows, she reached to pull the stocking from her eyes, and that's when she felt his fingertips graze lightly against the curls at the apex of her thighs.

" _Gods_ you are beautiful, Sansa," Jon's voice was thick -husky and laden with desire, as he pressed his thumb against her sex, and parted her lips.

Helplessly, she fell back onto the mattress, her legs already beginning to shake as molten heat erupted somewhere deep in belly, unfurling as it seeped out to all her nerve endings. She was ablaze, the chill in the room completely forgotten, and her insecurities buried once more.

The nudge of his finger pressed deeper, finding the tiny bud from which she always came undone, as he spread her lips wider and she felt the kiss of his breath _there_ ...moist heat -the tip of his tongue where she ached for him to touch her more, _and yet_ ...

Sansa's hips sprung forward of their own accord, even as she snapped her thighs closed against his advances, "Jon, you mustn't!" she cried out in protest.

"Why mustn't I?" He asked, his thumb still drawing lazy circles against her clit, as he nudged her legs apart again.

"It -it's not proper," Sansa stammered. She didn't have an exact reason ...she just _knew_ that it wasn't. How could it be? And _damn him_ , she couldn't possibly conceive of one with his fingers still working her at her flesh and breaking her concentration.

"Is this really the time and place you'd like to lecture me on propriety, love?" And Sansa didn't have to _see_ his face to know he was smirking up at her with that wolfish grin of his. "Does it _feel_ good?"

"Y-yes ..."

"And there's no one here but you and I, so what are you worried about?" His logic sound, Jon dipped his head between her thighs once more, and Sansa was helpless, her futile protests dying on her lips, her legs falling open shamelessly, as she gave herself over to him completely.

The heat of his mouth was glorious, as his tongue lapped at her swollen flesh, tasting every inch of her intimately and tossing her body into a whirlwind of new sensations. Sansa released the furs she was fisting, to push her hands through Jon's curls, while the heat in her belly roared to an inferno, threatening to burn her alive from the within.

Her body was suddenly not her own, as a her hips rutted against Jon's face, and inhuman sounds spilled from her lips. But he only seemed to enjoy this savage side of her more, groaning against her, as she tossed her inhibitions to the wind and something snapped inside her.

Stars bursting behind her eyelids, Sansa thrashed against the mattress, her body trembling with an intensity that was almost frightening, as she threw her head back and cried her release to the rafters above. Her chest was still heaving as she felt the comforting weight of Jon crawl up the length of her body. His arms encircled her, rolling them both to the center of the bed, tangling them up in the silks of her skirts.

Jon's lips were warm, his face slick with her juices, as he kissed her soundly, gently -and Sansa could taste herself on the tip of his tongue. It was odd and sensual all at once -the wicked things she succumbed to in the arms of her husband. But it was okay, because it was Jon, and _she loved him_. Perhaps she would tell him so, soon ...

Sansa blinked, as Jon loosened the stocking from her eyes, and the world slowly came back into focus.

"Have I warmed you enough, my sweet Sansa?" His eyes caressed her face tenderly, even as a smug grin tugged at the corners of his mouth.

Sansa furrowed her brow, sucking her bottom lip between her teeth as she tried her best to look pensive. "Hmm, I don't know. I think I still feel a bit of a chill."

Jon threw his head back and laughed, the sound filling the room as it filled her tender heart with joy. "Well come then, wife," his grey eyes clouding over with desire, he pressed her deeper into the bed so that she could feel his urgent need for her. "The night is still young. Let us warm each other."


End file.
